Drift
by Revanche
Summary: Tony tries to get away from it all.


Title: Drift   
Author: Revanche   
Disclaimer: Navy NCIS is owned by CBS, or at least TPTB.  
Rating: T   
Spoilers: None. I think.  
Notes: Pointless. Yeah, I know. Sorry. 

Tony tries to get away from it all.

xxxxx

There's no darkness in the city. Which isn't to say that there aren't shadows -- there're a hell of a lot of those -- but true darkness, it doesn't exist. So he's heading out of town. He's got another four days of vacation leave that's gonna evaporate if he doesn't use it, and he's heard that nature's good for the soul, but mostly he just needs to get out. Breathe fresh air. Look away from the lights speeding past his window -- vacancy low rates rent cheap girls open late -- and see something else, something beyond this jagged gray landscape. Trees, water.

He sees the Key Bridge in the distance. Over the Potomac, the neatly groomed trees on the riverbank.

He thinks maybe he'll reconnect with something. He's trying to avoid thinking about what, exactly, that is.

But a fast car, music, what else does he need? Exist in the moment.

He's missing the girl by his side.

x

He stops for lunch late, because if he'd stopped earlier, he might have just given up and gone back. Flat soda and a sandwich and he thinks that there should be something else. Flavored with the joy of being alive, on the move. Something. Other than just a destination and a couple of hotels.

He wonders what they're doing back in D.C.

There's a woman, tired and pale, standing outside of the diner when he leaves, sunlight stabbing into his eyes in the split-second before he slides his sunglasses on. She's sitting on a bench, reading a leaflet, one of the gaudy visitor's guides that litter the parking lot.

Impulse. He offers her a ride. What, he can't last this long by himself? But he can't exactly take it back.

She accepts, and he's not sure if he's glad.

x

Her name's Audrey. Her boyfriend took off with somebody else, whose name may or may not be Marcia, but she was thinking of dumping him, anyway.

Audrey's thinking about becoming a waitress. Or at least she was, until Tony stopped by. Now she's thinking she might just see what happens. Go with it.

He thinks that this may have been a bad idea, but he doesn't mind the company. Nice to have somebody else there. Keep him from thinking too much. Constant reminder of youth and stupidity and fucked-up chances. A distraction. Can't keep still.

She fiddles with the radio. "You like this song?"

x

"So are you going, like, all the way to Canada or what?"

"Nah, I'm just out for a drive." It's not completely a lie. He hopes he doesn't know why she's asking.

He doesn't mention being back at work in three, no, three and a half days. Is as guilty as she is. For hoping? Makes an attempt at doing the right thing. "You know, you really shouldn't accept rides from strange-"

"I know."

"Oh."

She shrugs, turns, sunlight streaming in around her. "You're okay, though."

Nods. "Thanks."

x

He hasn't bothered making reservations. She's slumped against the window. Asleep. He doesn't have the energy to glare at the cars in neat rows lining the parking lot. There's always the next motel. Or the car.

The manager working the front desk tells him that they've got one room left, so the neon vacancy sign is not inaccurate. Not having the energy to argue, he accepts the key and nearly runs into Audrey on his way back outside. She's got their bags, both of which look pathetically scrawny next to the tourists with their twelve-piece Samsonite sets.

"We pack light," she says, following his gaze. But she's got her entire life in there and it seems incredibly small. Stripped-down. Lonely.

He's just on vacation, himself.

x

There's no real discussion about the room. She follows him in like he invited her and sits on the edge of the bed. The one bed. Of course. He resigns himself to the chair and tries to envision it as something positive.

"I'm gonna take a shower," she says. A few minutes later, he hears the taps turn, the harsh spray. Wonders what the hell he's doing that he couldn't have done back in D.C. This is what people do. Escape from cities. Enjoy the sun. Driving.

Pick up strange, fragile-looking women and take them along for the ride, out of some warped sense of right and wrong. Not to mention that it wasn't a completely selfless act. Thinks sadly of his apartment, his desk, his stuff. Things he knew.

"It's all yours," she says. Stands in the doorway. "So, which side of the bed do you want?"

x

"Actually, I was gonna take the chair."

"Why? I don't bite."

"Yeah, but . . ." Shrugs. Thinks about things like taking advantage.

She shrugs. "Don't worry about it. You're paying for this, after all."

He wonders why he should be shy now, of all times. Nods. Wonders why he didn't tell her to get her own room. That this was it. Excuses himself to the shower and looks for a place to hide his wallet.

He is not naive.

x

"What do you do?" she asks, staring at the ceiling. Moonlight on the bed. The blinds don't close all the way, but it doesn't really matter. Not worth complaining to the manager, who'd just stare, or looking for a better place. Which, also, would cost a hell of a lot more. And he's slept in worse places.

So.

"You don't have to talk about it," she says. "It's okay."

He starts to explain his hesitation, but when her mouth covers his, he stops.

Gives in.

He shouldn't.

It's really hard to think rationally.

x

He wakes when tires squeal in the parking lot. A car door slams. Clock reads 8:13. He wanted to be on the road at eight.

Her bag's gone. His isn't. There's a note on the desk, scrawled on the back of the menu for a 24-hour pizza place. He crumples it up, tosses it into the wastebasket.

Starts coffee on the way to the bathroom.

His wallet's still there, too.

He wonders where she was from.

x

He watches the speedometer needle move. There's nobody in sight. Cheap thrills. If he were at work, he'd be at his desk, searching, probably fruitlessly, for information on a missing dead guy. Dead person, to be politically correct.

The newspaper he bought from the stand by the vending machine waits, unopened, on the passenger's seat. It's a poor companion. The headline on the front page says something about a missing girl. Another one. A run of bad luck, or maybe a serial moving into town.

He's not sure which would be better.

The radio pops, crackles -- they were all in love with dyin' they were drinking from the fountain -- and he wonders where Audrey is.

He stops the car on the side of the road so that he throw up.

x

He eats the food he got from the vending machine and calls it lunch. Chocolate, salt, grease. Choking on the pure American-ness of it. Wishes he could stop thinking. Reaches for the radio, switches the station. Rolling Stones. Can't get no --

Yeah. It'll do.

He thinks maybe he'll keep going, go forever, but he's got a destination in mind and knows that he won't. He looks at the clock again, counts the hours.

He wishes he hadn't come.

x

This time, he stops well before dark. It's emotional exhaustion, he thinks. Something deeper than tiredness. Can't be cured by an extra hour or two of sleep, but he might as well try.

It's the end of the road, anyway.

The room is quiet, the linens clean, and it's discounted and affordable. He doesn't appreciate it as much as someone else would have.

He watches the news. They're talking about another missing girl, or maybe it's the same one. He turns the set to a ball game and thinks about all of the things that can happen to the unprepared.

When his cell phone rings, he doesn't answer it.

x

The second time, it's a reflex. "Dinozzo." His voice sounds dreamy. Lost.

"Enjoying your vacation?"

"Yeah. It's great," he says. "Weather is beautiful, wish you were here. Et cetera."

Gibbs is silent.

Tony hangs up before he can make any assumptions. And tries to sleep.

x

6:02. Still dark. He shivers in his too-thin jacket and thinks that maybe he should have waited until mid-morning, like a normal person. But he wasn't sleeping very well, anyway, and this way, he's got it all to himself.

He watches the bitter gray Atlantic waters and wonders if the Pacific is any different. Maybe he's just here out of season.

He doesn't like the cold.

He stares at the horizon for a little longer and then decides that it's time to go. It's not the end of the road. It just feels like it.

He decides to get some coffee and then head out. Hit the road.

Go home.

Coffee. Yeah. Definitely a good idea.

x

He's back a day early.

"No satellite television in the middle of nowhere?" Kate asks.

"Just a hell of a lot of mosquitos," he says. "Not to mention, you've seen one tree, you've pretty much seen 'em all."

Gibbs slides a folder onto his desk and strides over to his own desk. "Missing lieutenant. Third this week, from the same unit."

Tony nods. Waits for Gibbs to say something else.

He doesn't.

Welcome back, Tony tells himself.

(He doesn't really need to.)

xxxxx

End.


End file.
